The Galaxy Meets the World
by superimpossedmadness
Summary: "There are no strangers here; Only friends you haven't met." - Yeats
1. Chapter 1

******A/N: I own neither SM nor Hetalia, not even McDonald's, are you happy now? -tears spring up- B-but someday, I will own something worthwhile. -nods and assures herself-**

**And I'm really sorry if this sucks, but please go easy on me, this is my first fic and I'm not really sure if I should post it or not..so, constructive crit and the like would be highly appreciated but please refrain from flaming. All that inferno **_**will**_** be used for roasting marshmallows, yum! **

**These little one-shots were inspired by **_**darkmistressofsilence92**_**'s stories; you should go check them out! =)**

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><p>"That's an awful lot of food for a little lady such as yourself," a deep voice jested good-naturedly, a broad smile painted on fine lips.<p>

The girl tentatively looked up from the piping hot processed goodness clutched in her gloved hands, irritated that someone would stop her from feasting on the glorious hotdog, only to be vastly rewarded when a generously good-looking man stood over her, hands buried somewhere inside his brown Aviator jacket.

He looked like he couldn't be older than her, his features and general countenance portraying a laid-back youth only to be further proven by the breezy smile adorned on his lips. His posture was lax and he looked like he couldn't care less. But his eyes were strange; a deep cobalt hidden behind a pair of boxed glasses. Though they twinkled with barely contained mirth and a dash of naivety, behind all that flamboyant joy hid a torrent of pain that could only belong to a person who had been through a maelstrom of loss and grief.

It was strange.

It was...captivating, they were so expressive.

And before she could dwell on it any longer, she reined her thoughts away from the strange enigma standing in front of her and directed it to the half-finished hotdog clutched firmly in her hands, cheeks tainted a light pink.

It was a funny feeling knowing that a complete stranger had enraptured her. What was his ulterior motive, if he even had one, was he just playing around with her? But a quick glance at the grinning man wiped away all the uncertainty she harbored. It was unnerving, to say the least.

Fighting back the wave of unease, she curved a smile of her own, quite an irksome action since both her cheeks were still stuffed with hotdog and relish. Had Rei been here, she would have surely suffered a bruising lecture for her horrible manners and just for the heck of poking fun, but since her prim friend was currently absent, the girl allowed herself to bask in the absence of a certain hothead breathing down her back.

"Look who's talking," she replied, after swallowing the contents congesting her mouth, giving the all but bulging McDonald's paper bag a chastising look.

The man laughed; a lovely sound that boomed from his throat and shone all the way to his eyes. He took a step forward and plunked down on the bench beside her, face front, "I guess you caught me there, little missy," he rumbled playfully, his smile threatening to crack the corners his lips, "But a hero's gotta fed himself some chow, how else would he be able to save all those people that need him?" Here, his eyes misted over with the signs of a daydream.

She giggled in return, leaning back to rest on the bench, "I know, it's hard to fight evil with an empty stomach."

He gave her a conspiratorial grin, "I know, right?"

And soon, they were delved in a deep conversation about the hardships and benefits of a hero, occasionally spaced with laughter and chuckles.

By the time the girl had chomped down on the last bite of her hotdog and he had crumpled his last burger wrapper, their conversation had waned down to an end and an amicable silence hung over the pair.

The abrupt end of their mutual silence came in the form of the girl's happy trill. "I'm Usagi, by the way, Tsukino Usagi," she chirped, offering her grease-stained glove, which the man took without hesitation.

He shook her hand quite excitably, another happy grin pulling at his lips, "Well Usagi," he replied, curling his tongue around her foreign name, "The name's Alfred, Alfred F. Jones."

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><p><strong>AN: Wahhh! Please forgive the little mistakes dotting this fic, for one, how Usagi's able to converse with Alfred in English, let's just pretend she knows, is that alright? 3**

**Anyways, I hope this isn't that bad, I'll really try and improve so, I highly appreciate any constructive criticism. Oh, and before I forget, lame title is lame! XD**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: After a long hiatus, I have finally managed to come up with another chappie, yay! -throws confetti- I'm sorry if it's not what you expect, though, but if you have any constructive crit, please don't hesistate to leave a comment. Oh, and I apologize if any of the characters seem OOC and the general failness of me trying to incorporate a teeny bit of honorifics and such.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own either Hetalia or Sailor Moon, they belong to their respective owners. I'm a mere fanfiction writer, hence the name being ****_fan_****-fiction.**

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><p>Feliciano froze upon the sight of the girl struggling with packets upon packets of pasta balanced in her folded hands, wobbling on her heeled boots as she scuttled towards her trolly. "Hang on <em>signorina<em>, I will help you," Feliciano cried out, his English swimming with remnants of an Italian accent.

A head peeked out from the top of the bags and regarded him with mild curiosity. "A-ah, _arigato_, sir," she managed to mumble in what he could discern as a Japanese lilt, as he meticulously placed the beloved pasta into the plastic trolly.

Humming in accomplishment, Feliciano turned on heel and regarded the girl in mild curiosity, who was tucking flyaway strands of brown hair behind her ear. The suave nation caught a warm palm above his own and brought it to his lips, "Anything for a pretty lady, ve~" he chirped back charmingly, letting her fingers slide from his own.

She flushed and flashed him a warm smile. "Makoto."

He blinked at her curiously. "Ve~?"

The girl chuckled as she lowered her hands back to the handle of the trolly, ducking her eyes to her worn boots in embarrassment, "I mean, my name is Makoto."

Feliciano nodded his head in understanding, "I am Feliciano, _signorina_ Makoto." There it was again, the very same smile that made her knees weak, and Makato found herself turning a deeper scarlet.

Before she had time to register his movements, he had darted to the side of her trolly, peering at the contents in mild interest. "Ve~ _Signorina_ Makoto-"

"Please, just call me Mako." She offered him a smile.

He threw her an inquiring gaze, and for a moment Makoto feared that she had offended the Italian man before he nodded his ascent. "Si, si, Mako, what do you need all these ingredients for?" He waved his forefinger at the clutter of various herbs, spices, and packets of pasta.

"Well, Feliciano," she worried her lip, almost slipping in a suffix, "I was planning to cook some_ Fettuccine Alfredo_."

Suddenly, Feliciano's whole demeanor shifted and he was practically bouncing on his feet. "**Ve**~? Pasta you say?"

She couldn't help but chuckle at his enthusiasm, barely stifling her amusement behind her hand. "_Hai_, pasta. I've been meaning to try out a recipe I read in this cook book."

"You like to cook pasta?" He couldn't hold in his excitement, Feliciano was nearly swooning at the thought of a pretty lady who could cook pasta and when she nodded, he swooped next to her and fervently clutched her hands in his. "May I help?"

She weighed down his offer, but she couldn't detect any malice in his exuberant eyes and friendly smile, so she graced him her hesitant accession. He gave a little whoop of delight, blabbering about different ideas he had for the 'perfect' pasta, as they trailed off to the check-out counters.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: It's certainly been some time since I've last updated this, hasn't it? I'm sorry for having taken so long, but I've been pretty busy with school. But nevertheless, here's a new chapter! Cookies to whoever can guess who the Senshi is in this chapter, though it isn't much of a challenge, I must admit. U 7 U**

**Disclaimer: I do not own SM, and this fanfic is in no way associated with the official franchise. **

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><p>Roderich's love for artistry is never an understatement; rather it is a statement that's bolded, highlighted and encircled for emphasis, just to be certain. And while it's true that this trait of his has stared as the punch line of a several of that Prussian's god awful jokes, the Austrian has managed to take it all in stride, for the most part.<p>

All right, there was that_ one _incident during a social gathering where he lost his cool, but he'd rather not talk about that, thank you very much (it ended with both of them bloody and bruised with a bellowing and murderous Elizaveta seething in the wake).

Nevertheless, he is an _artiste_, a man of finer tastes, and he is damned proud of it. And while the Italian brothers could boast about their marble statues and paintings all they wanted, he could bring forth the beauty of music. Ever since his fingers had first skimmed the glossy surface of the piano keys, he knew he had found his calling. Be it the strings of a violin or the notes of flute, he just _knew _from the get-go that music had taken a part of him and nestled deep in his heart.

Which was why there was something about the woman playing in the piazza that stopped him in his tracks. Under the warm Vienna sun, he shuffled over to the welcoming shade of the umbrella perched over a café table, his iced latte temporarily forgotten. His gaze never once left the figure backlit by the sunlight; there was something entrancing with the way that she played the violin. She moved with a seemingly natural grace, the notes flowing seamlessly from her deft fingers, something so enviously effortless that he couldn't help but stare at her in awe. Now he wasn't one to gape so openly –that was the Prussian's job- but there was something melancholic about her music, something that struck a chord deep within him.

He found himself walking forward, lost to the achingly beautiful music. Before he knew it, he had stopped several meters before the woman, just as awestruck with her beauty as he was with her mastery of the violin. She was a strange girl, if he had ever seen one. She seemed every bit of a refined lady; from her clothing to the way that she held herself, but there was something boisterously _loud_ about the aquamarine streaks that curled through her dark hair, something that seemed to balance out the rigidness of what could otherwise lead off as a sharp demeanor.

When the flow of her music tapered off to a finish, he had barely registered his next words before it was too late. "So beautiful."

The woman started, blinking over at him in mild curiosity and wariness, tucking back several strands of loose hair with her free hand. She tucked the bow of her violin underneath her arm, edging away from him somewhat cautiously

He blinked right back before he recounted his words, his horror mounting to a crescendo each passing moment he stood before her. He was quick to defend himself, nervously plucking at invisible lint on his shirt. "What I meant was, that was a beautiful rendition of Vivaldi's _Four Seasons_. I simply came here to compliment you, it was lovely."

As if he had opened the floodgates, the frigidness in her stance melted and she stood before him with a smile that simply glowed. It was either his words that put her at ease, or it was his ineptness at formulating a coherent sentence without coming off like a bumbling fool. Most uncharacteristically, he found himself flushing at the sight; oh Gilbert would have had a field day if he saw him now.

"Well, I was wondering…hm, how do I put this? Hm-hm. Coffee?" He prompted somewhat nervously, shaking his own full cup for emphasis. The woman bit back a grin, barely concealing her amusement. What was this? He was barely one to stumble over his words, and now here he was, fumbling over his sentences like a deathly shy schoolboy with a crush.

He nearly curled into himself from embarrassment, already mentally berating himself but she stopped him with a brilliant smile, showing off a pair of dimples that bracketed her coy grin.

"I don't see the harm in that," she replied in accented German, her eyes twinkling. She bent down and retrieved her case and gently replaced her violin into it, strapping it over her shoulder once she was done as she watched him from the corner of her eyes. "Shall we?"

It took Roderich a moment to collect himself. And when he did, he made a grand gesture of coughing primly into his fisted hand before busying his hand by adjusting his glasses. He made sure to offer her his arm, like any gentleman would, and when she wove her arm over the crook of his elbow, gently squeezing, he could barely bite back the barest hint of a shy smile.

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><p><strong>AN: AKJDhfjdskfjad, good grief, I'm so sorry I made Roderich so OOC here. I just wanted to see him lose his cool once, I tell 'ya and I miiiight have a gone a lil' overboard in terms of his 'bumbling'. But anyways, I hope you still enjoyed it, please do leave some CC. :)**


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